


PornDogs

by luckie_dee



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 10:34:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2648861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckie_dee/pseuds/luckie_dee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darren runs tech support for a porn site and Chris calls multiple times with embarrassing viruses/pop-ups/issues. Written for the 2014 CrissColfer Big Bang.</p>
            </blockquote>





	PornDogs

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you as always to the wonderful [Lindsey](http://controlofwhatido.tumblr.com/) for the support and the ass-kicking beta! And thank you, thank you, thank you to [Mandy](http://alittledizzy.tumblr.com/) for the prompt, the cheerleading, and the conversation that probably saved this entire fic. And, of course, the artwork! (Link coming soon!)
> 
> Warnings: References to or descriptions of masturbation, frottage, handjobs, blowjobs, fingering, anal sex, light bondage, blindfolded sex, and facials. Oh, and there's also swearing, alcohol use, references to drug use, and a bit of mild angst.

Chris holds his cell phone in one hand and stares at the telephone number on the screen. _So, it’s come to this_ , he thinks grimly.

He casts a mutinous glare at his laptop, sitting innocently on his desk like it’s not riddled with viruses and spyware and who knows what else. Chris really needs the stupid thing, though, or he wouldn’t even consider going to such desperate measures. It’s what he uses to write all his manuscripts and look for his next crappy part time job, and he is definitely not in any position to buy a new one. The only reason he has _this_ hunk of junk is because his parents gave it to him after he graduated from high school. Now, for the past two weeks, every time he turns it on, more and more pop-up ads and weird toolbars appear, and it’s running so slowly that it’s all but ground to a halt.

And Chris is definitely _not_ going to waltz into Best Buy and announce that he got a computer virus because he was watching gay porn online. 

He’d tried sending an email to the website in question first, but for all he knows, it disappeared into a black hole. Which he knows because he just checked his email. Which had taken nearly twenty minutes and is accompanied by a horrific grinding noise.

Chris grits his teeth and dials.

While it rings, he entertains a brief, horrible glimpse of a future where he’s running for public office, and a private investigator from the opposing camp unearths a phone record including a call placed to PornDogs.com. It’s almost enough to make him hang up, but just at that moment, someone answers.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but it’s not the chipper voice that answers with, “Thank you for calling PornDogs.com, an ARC Holdings company. This is Darren. How can I help you?”

It’s so normal — like Chris slipped up and dialed the Disney Cruise Line to book a vacation by mistake — that he just… freezes. 

“Hello, caller, are you there?” 

Chris rouses himself. “Um, yeah. I’m a — uh — a visitor of your website, and I think I’ve got a virus. A _computer_ virus,” he adds hastily.

“I’m so sorry to hear that, sir,” the voice says, and Chris is relieved that at least the agent can tell he’s a guy. (Although it _is_ a gay porn site, he reminds himself, so maybe it’s not so miraculous.) There’s a brief rustle of papers, and then the voice goes a little mechanical, rehearsed. “I regret to inform you that PornDogs.com has been hacked several times in recent weeks. Although our website is typically safe for browsing, the intent of these attacks was to insert malicious code and scripts that may harm users' computers. We would appreciate your help in identifying places where security was breached. Do you recall what part of our website you were accessing when the problem started?”

Chris’s face flames. “Um — I was watching a video.”

The guy — Darren — laughs a little, but not unkindly. “Well, that is usually why people visit PornDogs.com. Are you able to provide more detail?”

There _had_ been one video that he’d been particularly (and repeatedly) appreciative of when it had all started, but he says quickly, “I don’t remember the title.”

“That’s fine. I can narrow it down by subject matter or keyword.”

After a few seconds, Chris realizes that he’s supposed to fill the ensuing silence by talking about the specific details of the porn he’d been watching. “Well, there were — wrist restraints?” he starts, not sure why it comes out as a question. He clears his throat. “And a blindfold. And one of them… on the other one’s face.”

“Okay, bondage and facials,” Darren says cheerfully. “Anything else you can remember? Twinks, bears, spanking, piercings…?”

“Oh, no — no, none of those.” 

For a moment, Chris just hears the clicking of keys, and then Darren hums. “That doesn’t really narrow it down enough. Are you, by chance, a registered user? I can check your viewing history.”

Chris almost says no, but then he remembers that he’s on the verge of having to choose between Easy Mac and Diet Coke, and he really doesn’t want to give up food, which he will definitely have to do if he buys a new laptop and those are his options. “Yeah, I am.” And okay, maybe he’ll never be able to run for public office anyway.

“Awesome, what’s your user name?”

Chris’s stomach drops. The name had been hilarious at 3:30 in the morning after almost twenty solid hours of writing and a case of soda, but he’d never contemplated actually _saying it out loud_. “Uh —” _in for a penny, in for a pound_ , he thinks — “it’s 10-inches-of-rigid-yew,” he mumbles.

He’s surprised by a bark of genuine laughter on the other end of the line. “That is _awesome_. That’s a Harry Potter reference, right? So y-e-w?”

“Yeah,” Chris confirms, as his shoulders literally slump in relief. “And 10 like the number, not the word. Hyphens in between all of them.”

Darren’s keyboard clicks again as he says, “Seriously, man, that is the best one I’ve heard in a long time. Maybe ever.”

Despite how bizarre the whole situation is, Chris can’t help but feel a little proud. “Thanks.”

“So which is your favorite?” 

Chris’s brow wrinkles. “My favorite what?”

“Harry Potter book, duh.”

“Oh.” It takes him a minute to refocus, because that is pretty much the last thing he would have expected to discuss on this particular phone call. “Oh, um — I don’t think I could possibly choose.”

“Cop out,” Darren says immediately. “Such a cop out.”

Chris feels an automatic sense of indignation, but along with it comes the dawning realization that he’s being — teased. And not the same kind of teasing he’d endured from his high school classmates for years. “No, seriously!” he replies with more spirit. “That’s like asking me which one of my limbs I want to keep while you cut off the other ones.”

Darren laughs again, open and easy. “Cop ouuuut,” he sing-songs. 

“Okay then, which would _you_ pick?” Chris challenges him.

“I —” Darren pauses dramatically “— am so off script, dude. I’m sorry.” 

“That sounds an awful lot like a cop out.”

Darren chuckles ruefully. “No, really. We have a script that we’re supposed to stick to, and calls are supposed to average, like, some ridiculously short period of time. And _someone_ ,” he says pointedly, “is glaring at me from the next cubicle like she’s trying to drill that thought into my brain using only her eyes. So, sorry.”

Chris feels a strange sense of disappointment. “No, that’s okay. It made this whole thing a little less embarrassing,” he admits.

“What is there to be embarrassed about?” Darren asks.

“Um, calling customer support at PornDogs.com?”

Darren snorts. “I _am_ customer support at PornDogs.com.”

“Point,” Chris says, laughing a bit too.

“Okay, so, for future reference, the title of the particular feature you were watching is ‘Trussed Up Cum Shot,’ which, frankly, is kind of an exaggeration, but whatever. I’m going to report it, and we’ll get it cleaned up and posted again in a day or two, in case you want to find it again.”

…and just like that, the embarrassment is back, full bore. “Okay.” Chris pauses. “Thank you.”

“No, thank _you_.” The keyboard clatters a bit more, and then there’s another rustle of papers. “You will receive an email from me or another member of my team within twenty-four hours,” Darren recites. “It will contain instructions about how to resolve the issues that are affecting your computer, once we have determined the risks that were present.” 

“Okay,” Chris replies quietly. “Thanks.”

“And, as a special gift from me to you, I’ll throw in a credit for one complimentary paid feature,” Darren adds, lowering his voice a little. “As an apology for the inconvenience.”

“Oh,” Chris says. “That’s okay. You don’t have to do that.”

“Nope, but I want to.”

“I meant — I don’t want you to get in trouble.” Because it sounds like Darren has a pretty strict set of rules to adhere to. 

“Oh, I won’t. We each have a set number of credits we can give out each month to keep our customers satisfied,” he explains, and Chris thinks he hears a bit of a saucy lilt to his tone, but it’s gone before he can verify it. “Besides, our website almost ruined your computer. You deserve one.” 

Chris relents, because that is a pretty good argument, and they’re probably well over Darren’s time limit anyway. “Well… if you insist.”

“Great,” Darren replies brightly. “You’ll find a promo code in your follow up email. Is there anything else I can do for _yew_ today?” He pauses. “Get it — yew?”

Despite the way his eyes are rolling into the back of his skull, Chris snorts. “Yeah, I got it. Very clever. And no, nothing else today, thanks.”

“You’re very welcome. Thank you for visiting PornDogs.com!”

“Yeah, uh, you’re welcome,” Chris replies, then hangs up after Darren cheerfully tells him to have a great day.

*

When Chris was in high school, envisioning his future life in Los Angeles, it hadn't included developing a regular porn habit. He’d actually assumed that once he escaped the cow town where he was born and raised, he’d be able to explore his sexuality. Literally, in real life. With a boyfriend — or, barring that, he’d be wading into a pool of guys who were actually willing to fuck, and he could only hope there’d be one or two takers.

He’d discovered pretty quickly that there were more than that. (And when he _does_ start looking at porn, it’s not hard to figure out why — the word _twink_ is everywhere, _twink gets fucked, cute twink fucks hard, twink spreads cheeks and takes a hard cock, twink twink twink_.) And he awkwardly enjoys his options at first. Chris had found his new roommate on Craigslist, and Rob both hosts parties in their apartment and gamely takes Chris along to his friends’ places, so Chris — hooks up. It’s not magical. In fact, it’s usually clumsy, rarely sober, and never more than a one-night stand. He doesn’t do it a _ton_ , and then he doesn’t do it at all because it’s ultimately kind of unsatisfying and gross, but at least he’s got experience on both ends of a handjob and a blowjob now. 

It all kind of coincides with the end of his first six months in LA. He’s been on more auditions than he cares to admit, zero of which have panned out, not even low-budget commercials, and he’s written _maybe_ half a chapter in the same amount of time. It’s always been his goal to make it as either an actor or a writer, and since the former isn’t panning out, he resolves to buckle down and focus on the latter. So he does. Rob’s not sure what to make of his new, even stranger hours and the way he can disappear into his room for days at a time. He gets used to it in time and stops bothering Chris and barging in on Chris while he’s working and inviting him out when Chris clearly told him that he’s _staying in to write_. 

It’s on one such night — late, Rob gone at some party and Chris exhausted and finally snapping out of the spell of a writing binge — that he first lands on PornDogs.com. After doing more writing than anything else for the better part of three days, he realizes that he’s hungry, thirsty, tired. Horny. It’s not even that he’s _horny_ , exactly, and frankly that would be kind of creepy after spending three days working on a children’s book. He just realizes that he hasn’t gotten off since a day or two before his muses started screaming at him, so he suddenly just sort of... wants to. And he’s tired and he’s sitting in front of his computer, so he curiously starts looking up porn just for the hell of it.

He enjoys it more than he expects to, and even better, there are no awkward clean-up-and-good-bye scenes afterward. So it’s a year later, and he may not have a boyfriend, but he’s got a PornDogs.com account and a manuscript and a half. At least he’s making progress on something.

*

Chris admits to himself that he _might_ put too much time and thought into deciding which video to watch with his complimentary promotional code. He doesn’t want to just waste it on something terrible, especially because he doesn’t really have a lot of extra money lying around for (ostensibly) better porn, so it's going to be his one chance to sample it. He _tries_ to make some sort of educated decision: he reads descriptions and squints at thumbnail images and watches previews. But then he feels stupid for doing all of that and quickly settles on a video that features… well, more of the same. Then it’s just a matter of waiting patiently for an afternoon when Rob is gone, really gone, and there’s no danger that he’ll pop back in and interrupt Chris’s alone time. 

When that day finally comes, Chris takes a few minutes to make himself comfortable. The video is forty-five minutes long, so if it all goes well, this isn’t going to be just a quick drop-trou-and-jerk-it-for-five-minutes experience. He props up some pillows at the head of his bed, clears a spot to set his laptop at an optimal viewing angle, and readies some lube and a towel. All that’s left to do is click on the video and enter his promotional code — 

_Invalid entry. Please check your code and try again._

Chris checks the number and carefully re-types it. He gets the same error message. He copies the code from one window to the other. Nothing.

“Goddammit,” he mutters. 

And he probably should just leave it there, indulge in that five-minute jerk off, and forget the whole situation, but… now it’s about the _principle_ of the thing.

He doesn’t bother to start with an email this time. Instead, he goes straight for his cell phone and starts punching in the toll-free number. His phone remembers it halfway through, and he grumbles, “oh, shut up” at it before he places the call. 

There are two rings, and then — “Thank you for calling PornDogs.com, an ARC Holdings company. This is Darren. How can I help you?”

What are the fucking chances. 

Chris almost hangs up, but instead, he grips the phone a little more tightly and clears his throat. “Darren, hi. This is — um — 10-inches-of-rigid-yew?” Darren snorts, and Chris — doesn’t like to be laughed at. But it’s just because his user name is funny, right? Still, he sits up straighter, his backbone stiffening. “The code you sent me doesn’t work.”

“Hey, man,” Darren says easily, his voice bright and clearly amused. “Thanks for calling back. Could you please describe the problem in more detail?”

And yeah, okay, Chris _is_ starting to feel like he’s the butt of some kind of joke. “I called in last week with a computer virus, and you sent me a promo code for my troubles. I just tried to use it, and it's just giving me error messages.”

“Oh, hey — does that mean your computer’s working now?” Darren asks, sounding excited.

“What?”

“I sent you some instructions for cleaning up your hard drive. Did they work? I’m just hoping your computer’s not still all fu — messed up.”

“Oh,” Chris says, his surprise momentarily derailing his annoyance. “Yeah, no. It’s fine now. Thanks.”

Darren exclaims “good!” with such enthusiasm that Chris is even more taken aback. Who gets that excited about a stranger’s computer being virus-free? In the space left by Chris’s stunned silence, Darren asks, “Now what’s this about your promo code?”

Chris shakes himself. “I just tried to use it, and I got an error message saying that it’s invalid.”

“Huh.” The clicking of keys starts up again. “That’s odd — it shouldn’t — oh.”

“Oh?” Chris prompts.

“I found the problem,” Darren replies sheepishly.

“Which is?”

“It appears that your code was never activated by Customer Support.”

Chris arches an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Mmmhmm,” Darren says, keyboard clicking in the background. “I’m very disappointed in whoever took your last call.”

And that’s bait that Chris certainly _wants_ to rise to, even though he still feels a little uncertain about the whole situation. “Well, I hope his supervisor is a fan of strongly-worded letters.”

“Going to send a Howler?” Darren quips.

When he catches on, Chris can’t help but let out a snort of amusement. “Yes, and it’s going to yell at your boss in front of all your coworkers about how my porn coupon code isn’t working.”

“Doesn’t sound that much worse than my last escalated call,” Darren says easily. “I’m pretty sure everyone could hear that a— um, that customer — screaming through the phone from his office.”

Despite his better judgment, Chris’s curiosity is piqued. “What did you _do_?”

“ _I_ didn’t do anything. His browser wasn’t updated, and then he had all these weird plug-ins that were conflicting with our video player, and he didn’t believe me when I tried to explain everything and demanded to talk to my supervisor.”

“Sounds like a charmer,” Chris deadpans. 

Darren still sound unconcerned. “Far from the worst I've had. So if you want to embarrass me with a Howler, you’re going to have to do a lot worse than mentioning a coupon code for some free porn. We have more scandalous conversations over lunch.”

“Like what?” Chris absolutely did not mean to ask that. The words were out before he'd even consciously realized they were coming.

“Nuh-uh,” Darren shoots back playfully. “What happens at porn customer service headquarters stays at porn customer service headquarters.”

The next natural step is for Chris to press him for more information, especially because it’s starting to feel all weirdly flirtatious again, but instead he just kind of chuckles, because he’s not sure that he _really_ feels comfortable getting into some strange porn-themed discussion with a virtual stranger. Well, or _more_ porn-themed discussion, anyway. They fall into an uneasy silence, which Darren breaks with a cheerful, “Okay! If you just give me a couple more —” there are a few more muffled clicks and keystrokes “— you should be all set to go now.”

“Great,” Chris says briskly, grasping for his composure again. He grabs his laptop. “I’m just going to test it quick — if you don’t mind hanging on the line for a minute.”

“Not at all,” Darren replies. “Go right ahead.”

Chris reenters the code, and this time, _success_ — the video loads, and Chris quickly pauses it. “Okay, it worked.”

“I see that,” Darren says. “That’s a good choice. If you liked Trussed Up Cum Shot, you’ll like that one.”

“Oh.” Chris blinks. “You… know it?”

“We changed our whole indexing and tagging system last year,” Darren explains cheerfully. “It was all-hands-on-deck. I worked mostly on paid features, so I’ve seen plenty of ‘em.” 

“Ah.” Chris doesn’t even know what else to say.

“So, 10-inches, is there anything else I can do for you today?” 

Chris looks down at his laptop screen blankly. “No, uh — I think that’s it for today.”

“Awesome! Thank you for visiting PornDogs.com, and —” he drops his voice, sounding amused and suggestive “— have a _great_ rest of your day.”

The call disconnects as Chris’s face flushes hot.

*

So, as lovely as it had been, Chris figures that’s the end of it. Probably best to not romanticize two five-minute phone conversations with the customer service rep at a porn website anyway. It’s a foolish fantasy at best and a distraction from his writing at worst. He avoids PornDogs.com for a few days just to help clear his head, but then Friday afternoon rolls around and Rob is gone because he actually landed a role and Chris hasn’t even taken the edge off since the week before. He knows he find a different site, but he doesn’t, pulling up PornDogs.com and starting to type his password — 

And just as he’s typing the last few characters, the cat that they’d rescued from the alley behind their building jumps into his lap, and he startles, his hand jerking and clattering on the wrong keys before he hits _Enter_ by force of habit.

Chris scratches behind the cat’s ears as the error screen pops up. “You scared me, Brian,” he baby-voices quietly. “Yes you did. And I’m going to have to put you out of the room because I’m not doing this with you in here.”

He puts his hands back on the keyboard and types again. Meanwhile, Brian, apparently miffed at no longer being petted, butts his head hard into Chris’s elbow, and Chris mistypes again. 

“Shit,” Chris swears. _Login failed_ , the screen says. _Invalid user name or password. Additional incorrect attempts will lock your account. If you do not remember your password, click on the link below to recover._

Chris blinks.

_Additional incorrect attempts will lock your account._

He — shouldn’t. It would be pathetic. Really pathetic. And besides, Darren probably has a girlfriend. Or a debilitating drug problem. Or an extensive collection of skin suits, and someone in his basement _putting the lotion in the basket_.

But at the same time, Chris knows that his longest-standing relationship is with porn, and he can’t even remember the last time he actually, deliberately flirted with someone. (Well, he can. It was at the laundromat. It just so happened that the recipient of his flirting hadn’t spoken any English. But it was good practice, right?)

He brings his fingers to the keys again, and briskly, before he can analyze the decision, types something that’s almost his password but not quite, and stabs the _Enter_ key with his pinky. 

_Your account has been locked._

His heart beating strangely in his chest, Chris picks up his phone and dials customer service. _He probably won’t even answer_ , Chris thinks. _What are the chances of getting the same person three times in a row?_ And Chris thinks he might be okay with that, because then he wouldn’t have to feel so _fucking stupid_ and _lame_ and — 

“Thank you for calling PornDogs.com, an ARC Holdings company. This is Darren. How can I help you?”

_Jesus fucking christ._

Chris finds his voice, trying to sound unaffected and surprised. “Oh! Hey. Hey, Darren. This is 10-inches-of-rigid-yew again.”

“Chad, hey!” Darren says cheerfully, and Chris falters.

“Chad?”

Darren hums affirmatively, and it sounds a little amused. “That’s the name on your profile.”

“…oh yeah.” Chris had completely forgotten about that. “Chad — isn’t actually my real name.”

“You’re _kidding_ ,” Darren gasps, all false disbelief. “Next you’re going to tell me that your last name isn’t actually Charming.”

Some day Chris is going to make one of these phone calls and not end up embarrassed to the edge of human capacity. No, scratch that — some day he’s going to stop calling porn customer service so often. He takes a deep breath and thinks _what the hell_. “It’s Chris. My name is Chris.”

“Chris Charming?”

Chris snorts. “No.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Darren says gallantly, and Chris shoots Brian a dubious look. “So, what can I do for you, Chris not-so-Charming?”

“I’m locked out of my account,” he explains. “My cat was bothering me while I was trying to log in, and I guess I managed to mistype my password three times.” Brian looks up at him with a baleful expression, clearly unimpressed with the lie. Chris frowns back, then turns away.

“Well, that’s easy enough to fix,” Darren says, sounding as unconcerned and cheerful as ever. 

“Thanks,” Chris replies awkwardly. 

He tries desperately to come up with a conversation topic to fill the brief silence that follows, but thankfully, Darren speaks up first. “So, you know I have to ask. Where the f- I mean, where did you come up with _Chad Charming_?”

“Well —” Chris hesitates “— it’s dumb.”

“It’s not dumb,” Darren says immediately.

“You don’t know if it’s dumb or not,” Chris points out.

“I bet it’s not.”

Chris sighs. “Okay, so you know how Cinderella marries Prince Charming?”

“Yup.”

“And Snow White marries Prince Charming?”

“Yup.”

“ _And_ Sleeping Beauty?”

“Yup.”

“So I was thinking that either Prince Charming _really_ gets around —” Darren snorts, and Chris feels one corner of his mouth twitch up “— or there’s more than one. You know, so maybe there’s Chase Charming, and —”

“Chad Charming,” Darren interjects, still chuckling.

Chris smiles ruefully. “I’m still working on the names.”

Either Darren’s done with whatever he needs to do to reset Chris’s password, or he’s just stopped working, because there’s no sound on the line other than his voice. “What do you mean you’re still working on them?”

 _Shit_. “Oh — it’s for something I’m writing.” 

He can practically _hear_ Darren perking up. “You’re a writer? That’s so rad. I write songs, but I don’t think I could do, like, an actual story. What are you working on? Something with fairy tales?”

“Yeah, just… a book.”

“Seriously? That is _so awesome_. What’s it about?”

Chris is fidgeting so much in his desk chair that Brian shoots him one last annoyed look and jumps heavily down, exiting the room in a way that somehow manages to look disdainful. “It’s — dumb,” Chris finally says, not because he thinks it is, but he’s pretty sure that some guy who works for a porn website probably isn’t going to be too impressed by a young adult novel about fairy tales.

“No offense, man, but you were wrong the last time you said that, and I’m pretty sure you’re wrong now.”

“Don’t you have some kind of time limit on these calls?” Chris asks nervously.

“I’m the only one here right now. Dianna’s on break and the phones are dead. C’mon, Chris, humor me,” he cajoles, and Chris is pretty sure _that_ tone of voice has gotten Darren pretty far in the world.

He sighs. “Okay, okay. It’s a young adult series —”

“A _series_? Wow.”

“— yeah, I’m, um. I’m actually in the middle of the second one —”

“Holy shit. I mean — I didn’t mean to say that. Wow.”

Chris snorts. “Anyway, it’s about two kids who find a magic book and it — transports them to a land where fairy tales are real.” He hurries the words out, and then kind of cringes, waiting for Darren’s response. 

“Are they out?” Darren asks immediately. “Where can I buy them? Well, the first one anyway.”

“Um — no.”

“Okay, when do they come out?”

“They… don’t,” Chris says. “I’m not published. Yet.” 

Darren hums a little into the phone. “Well, I hope you are. I’d totally read ‘em.”

Chris doesn’t know exactly how to respond to that, so finally he just says, “Thanks.”

“You should let me know if —” Darren cuts himself off suddenly, and when he speaks again, his tone is totally different. “I’m sorry to hear that, sir. I’d be happy to reset your password.” 

“Okay,” Chris replies, disappointment like quicksand in his chest. “Thanks.”

The familiar sound of keystrokes starts up from Darren’s end of the line again. “It’s my pleasure,” he says, and Chris doesn’t _think_ he’s imagining the extra note of warmth in his voice. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“It’s no problem. It’s not your fault.”

“All right, Chad. I’ve reset your password to ABC!123. Can you please try to sign in with that information?”

Chris does. He almost hopes to get locked out again, to keep Darren on the phone, but of course the new password works just fine. He doesn’t want to get Darren in trouble, anyway. “It worked, and it’s asking me to enter a new password,” he reports.

“Awesome. You can go ahead and pick something new, and you should be all set. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

“No,” Chris says. “No, that’s it. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Thank you for visiting PornDogs.com and have a great day. And uh —” Darren’s voice drops to something barely above a murmur “— good luck with your books.”

“Thanks,” Chris repeats. “Thank you.”

And then Darren is gone.

*

Chris feels kind of disappointed and not much like jerking off after that, so he changes his password again and logs back out. He indulges in a brief moping session instead, then finds Brian in the kitchen and tries to goad him into playing with the laser pointer. Chris isn’t sure if it’s because Brian isn’t used to being able to have food whenever he wants it, but he’s putting on weight at an alarming rate. Brian chases the red dot a little, but after a few seconds, he loses his footing and slides into the oven, and he stalks off looking offended. Chris frowns at the loss of a distraction, because he doesn’t want the time and space to think. To analyze everything that had happened, especially Darren saying _You should let me know if_ … before getting cut off, because it doesn’t really bear thinking about. Chris would actually have to land a publishing deal first, and then what? He’s going to call up customer support at PornDogs.com to tell a random customer service agent about his good fortune? Like Darren would really want to know, and just wasn’t being polite?

He’s analyzing it. 

He forces himself to stop, heading back over to the couch and flopping down for a nap. He doesn’t really like to nap, but at least he can’t think when he’s unconscious. Brian follows him and stretches out on his chest.

Chris’s last thought before going under is _well, I guess that’s that_. 

*

Chris's latest low-paying, unglamorous, part-time job is in a laundromat, where he spends the afternoon on Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays, and every other Saturday. He hates the work when there’s work to do (and even more when there are customers being dickheads), but he also gets long stretches of time when he can sit behind the counter and scribble in a notebook. The next day, when his only customer is asleep next to the dryers, Chris tosses down his pen in frustration. He has two scenes written, but bridging the gap in between them is proving to be impossible. Hoping that a break will clear his head, Chris sneaks his cell phone out of his pocket. He sees a text from his mother that he doesn’t bother responding to and a fresh batch of junk e-mail, including a notification that there’s a private message waiting for him at PornDogs.com. He’s always been a little skeeved out by the fact that there _is_ a private messaging system, but luckily (or unluckily), he’s only ever gotten weird penis enlargement spam before. The sender of this particular message, though, gives him pause: _Darren-CS_.

He actually has to log into the system to retrieve the message, and there’s no way he’s doing _that_ at work, even if his only customer is dead to the world. Although he’s well over halfway done with his five-hour shift, it feels like forever until he actually gets to leave. In the meantime, he runs through all the possible scenarios and pushes them out of his head by focusing on the most likely and least interesting: it’s a final, stock, generic thank you for using the site and a link to a satisfaction survey. What else could it possibly be? They’d had a couple of nice conversations sure, but being friendly is part of Darren’s job — one that he's obviously good at. Their talks had certainly meant far more to Chris than they had to him.

That’s not exactly what happens.

Chris means to wait until he gets home, but he only makes it as far as the parking lot. He pulls his phone back out as soon as he's in his car, logging in and navigating quickly to his inbox.

_From: Darren-CS  
Hey Chris! It was awesome to finally meet the dude behind the awesome pseudonyms. Still waiting on that favorite HP book though. —D_

Chris sits carefully back in his seat.

That’s an invitation to further conversation, right? What else would it be? Chris runs the twenty-three words over in his mind, instinctively trying to find the catch, the trick, the joke. He doesn’t see one, but then again, he doesn’t know Darren, so maybe he’s just not picking up on something that he should be. 

He closes his web browser and starts the car. He can respond when he gets home. And he thinks about what he’s going to say the entire way there.

*

_From: 10-inches-of-rigid-yew  
This is the strangest customer satisfaction survey I’ve ever seen._

*

The answer pops in while Chris is in bed, trying to add a few more sentences to his manuscript before his eyes close for good. That, in and of itself, gives him pause — it’s the middle of the night. Isn’t it? Chris blinks, bleary-eyed, at his alarm clock. Definitely the middle of the night on a Saturday. Which means that Darren either works weird hours (which he might — after all, PornDogs.com never sleeps) or he’s visiting the site himself at almost three in the morning. Or he’s checking to see if Chris replied.

Rob is dead asleep in his room. Chris logs in.

_From: Darren-CS  
Well I’m afraid it’s mandatory. And every unanswered survey counts against me. Do you want me to lose my job, Chris? Do you?_

Chris lets out a quiet snicker, equal parts amused, intrigued, and wary. (And kind of nervously excited, but he tamps that down as quickly as he recognizes it.) He poises his fingers over the keyboard, already planning a response, when he realizes it’s just going to make it look like he’s up at three AM watching porn. Which, granted, probably wouldn’t come as a surprise to someone who works where Darren works, but some instinct still makes him close the window. He can sleep on it and answer in the morning.

*

_From: 10-inches-of-rigid-yew  
Fine. If you FORCED ME TO CHOOSE, either because you were holding a gun to my head or you were lying about losing your job if I didn’t tell you, I would say Goblet of Fire or Deathly Hallows. But now you have to tell me yours._

*

_From: Darren-CS  
You showed me yours so now I have to show you mine? ;) I’d love to…… but I couldn’t possibly choose a favorite Harry Potter book, man! They’re all freaking awesome._

Chris rolls his eyes, mainly to distract himself from the way his stomach warms and flips over. That’s — flirting, right? Obviously, Darren’s kind of an asshole, but he is flirting, isn’t he? Chris is _at least_ fifty percent sure, but lack of experience has left him rusty. 

He really hopes Darren isn’t sixty years old. Or an axe murderer. Or straight. Not that it matters; he could live on the other side of the world for all Chris knows. And anyway, he certainly hadn’t sounded fifty on the phone, and he doesn’t seem entirely straight when he makes a show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours joke with a winking face.

On the other hand, he does kind of sound like a smartass, but something about it raises Chris's pique in exactly the right way. For the first time, he doesn’t wait to respond. He has a moment of sender’s remorse once the message is gone, but there’s nothing he can do about it.

_From: 10-inches-of-rigid-yew  
Quid pro quo, Darren. Nobody likes an asshole._

*

When the response comes, about an hour later, Chris finds himself rolling his eyes again. But he laughs too. He can’t really help it. 

_From: Darren-CS  
In my experience, there are a lot of examples on our website of guys who like assholes quite a bit. _

*

_From: 10-inches-of-rigid-yew  
Clever. Stop avoiding the question._

*

_From: Darren-CS  
What question? _

*

_From: 10-inches-of-rigid-yew  
Which Harry Potter book is your favorite?_

*

_From: Darren-CS  
That’s such a Sophie’s choice, man. _

*

_From: 10-inches-of-rigid-yew  
Not exactly. Have you ever actually read Sophie’s Choice?_

*

_From: Darren-CS  
Not exactly. But it sounds like you have. Sounds like you’re a pretty avid reader, actually. What’s your fave other than good ol’ HP?_

*

They’re off and running after that. The messages grow longer, come faster. From books they move to movie adaptations of books, and Darren again refuses to answer the Harry Potter question. Then it’s movies in general, then movie musicals (and the fact that Darren can discuss movie musicals boosts Chris’s hopes still further, stereotypical though it may be). After that, it all spirals hopelessly out of control.

And then, one day, Chris is reading a rambling missive from Darren about food, and specifically tapas, and specifically the restaurant he’d checked out a few weeks ago and — Chris recognizes it. One of Rob’s friends works at the bar across the street.

Chris rereads the message, double checking the name. Maybe it’s not the same one. Or maybe it’s a chain. Chris manages a few chatty lines in reply — writing’s going great and no, he’s never tried tapas — and then he tacks on: _I think I know which restaurant you mean. Are you by chance in LA?_

He sends the message, closes the website, and pulls up his manuscript. Despite what he’d just told Darren, he struggles to write.

*

When the response comes, it’s only four words long: _I am! Are you??_

Chris feels a little queasy when he reads it. Everything just got a lot more real.

*

And just like that, Chris has a — well, he doesn’t know if he can call it a date. He has plans to go to a restaurant where he will eat tapas and meet someone who’s appalled that he’s never eaten tapas before. It seems to Chris like it _could_ be a date, but the word _date_ hasn’t actually entered the conversation, so Chris isn’t comfortable saying he has one. Especially since he has so few other examples to compare it to.

He does tell Rob where he’s going, because he’s not stupid enough to wander out into Los Angeles to meet a virtual stranger without letting someone know his whereabouts. It does make him think, though, that he might be doing a really stupid thing. He might be asking to end up dead in a dumpster. But on the other hand, he did find his roommate on Craigslist and live to tell the tale. Maybe lightning will strike twice. 

For all that Chris doesn’t know about Darren, he does now know that Darren’s, well… not unattractive. Darren had sent him two pictures ( _so you’ll know who you’re looking for_ ), and they’re saved on Chris’s computer in a folder labeled _Stuff_. Chris has definitely gravitated toward a certain _type_ in the past, and Darren isn’t necessarily it, but he _does_ have nice eyes — they’re wide and warm in one picture, crinkled into cheerful slits in the other — and a bright smile. His lips aren’t bad either. Not that Chris had noticed that. And he certainly hasn’t spent an inordinate amount of time studying both pictures.

He just wants to be prepared, that’s all.

*

Chris lets himself gets really frustrated while he’s getting ready to meet Darren for dinner, mostly because it keeps him from feeling nervous. Trying to make himself presentable _is_ a frustrating exercise, though — he doesn’t have the right clothes for something that might be a date but still might not be, or the right body, or face, or the right hair. His hair, in fact, is so disappointing that he eventually just jams a pageboy cap over it instead. Neither a graphic t-shirt nor a henley seem like the right choice, so he settles for the only other option in his closet: a button-down shirt and jeans. 

He gets to the restaurant first, and that’s fine. It’s fine, except that he’s fifteen minutes early, and Darren is almost ten minutes late, so Chris has a lot of time to wait and worry and get even _more_ frustrated. Just as he thinks to himself _I’m giving this asshole five more minutes, and then I’m gone_ , he looks up and sees a guy who is definitely Darren pulling open the door for an older couple on their way out. He steps aside gallantly, smiling and holding the door wide.

Chris blinks.

Okay, so the guy is good-looking. It’s not news, but he’s actually better in person. Or worse, depending on your point of view. Or so much better that it’s worse. In the moment that Chris watches Darren before Darren sees him, he feels his heart sink, because Darren looks like everything that Chris _doesn’t_ feel in that moment: confident, self-assured, mature, sexy. If there were any way for him to make a break for it, in that split second, Chris might have done it.

Instead, he tries not to look like he was staring as Darren swings around to enter the room, scanning the benches in the waiting area until his eyes light on Chris. And then, even while Chris holds his breath, Darren breaks into a big smile and exclaims, like he’s genuinely thrilled, “Chris! Hey! Right?”

It’s hard for Chris to stay stoic in the face of such enthusiasm, even though he wants to squirm at the way all the heads in the lobby swivel between them. He smiles; it’s tight-lipped, controlled, but sincere. “Darren, hi.” He stands as Darren gets closer and, on instinct, thrusts his hand out to shake. Darren looks down at it, surprised. Chris is instantly mortified, but Darren just clasps it — his own warm and a little damp — and pumps it firmly.

“I am so sorry I’m late. There was an accident —”

Chris frowns. “I didn’t hear anything about an accident.”

“— in my apartment,” Darren clarifies. “My roommate was trying to make Rice-A-Roni, and when he took the bowl out of the microwave — I don’t even know what happened, but somehow the entire thing just, like, fucking cracked in half, so there was boiling water and broken glass all over, and I couldn’t just _leave_ without giving him a bunch of shit and taking pictures.”

“Oh,” Chris says, taken aback. So Darren was late because he was making fun of someone. Awesome. “I, uh — I thought Rice-A-Roni was pretty much foolproof.”

Darren shrugs and grins. “I guess it takes a special kind of fool. I helped him clean up too, by the way. That’s the part that made me late. I’m not a total asshole.”

Chris isn’t one hundred percent convinced yet, so he just says, “I guess we’ll see.” 

Somehow, it’s not surprising when Darren’s smile widens. Before he can say anything else, though, the hostess pointedly clears her throat. She’s looking at them sternly — probably because they’re blocking her station, or maybe because three curse words just tumbled out of Darren’s mouth in the span of thirty seconds, and there’s a family with impressionable pre-teens not too far away. Darren either doesn’t notice her expression or doesn’t care as he turns his winning smile in her direction. “Criss, for two?”

“Did you put the reservation under my name?” Chris mutters in confusion while the hostess consults her list.

“Huh? Oh, no. That’s my last name.”

The hostess interrupts Darren’s response with a brisk _right this way_. She leads them to a minuscule table snugged up against one wall. Everything seems really close together, and Chris is pretty sure it’s only going to exacerbate the awkwardness of the situation. Darren seems less bothered; he thanks the hostess brightly and turns back to Chris, grin still firmly in place. “So.”

“So,” Chris echoes uncomfortably. “Um, your last name is Chris?”

“C-R-I-S-S,” Darren spells. “So like _kiss_ , but with a C-R on the front.”

Is _that_ flirting? Even if it is, the only witty repartee Chris can come up with is, “Oh. Mine is the usual way.”

“Cool,” Darren says.

Luckily, the waitress chooses that moment to appear at their table. Or at least Chris thinks it’s lucky at first, but then he catches sight of the way she’s looking at Darren. Maybe not. He frowns through her perky greeting and only snaps to when she chirps, “Can I get you something to drink?” 

She’s looking at Darren, but Darren turns his attention across the table to Chris. “Can I get you something?” he asks.

Chris pauses, considering his options. They aren’t great, especially since Darren doesn’t know how old he is. Finally, he tilts his head toward the waitress and says, “Diet Coke?”

She nods, giving him a brittle smile before turning back to Darren. He looks mildly surprised, but he sets the drink menu aside. “Not drinking tonight, huh? I can dig. I’ll have the same.” 

The waitresses face goes even tighter, and she spins away, leaving Chris wondering if he’s going to be enjoying a plate of _tapas con saliva_. 

In the ensuing lull, they both bury their noses in their menus, and Chris tries to regroup. He’s well aware that he hasn’t been the world’s most sparkling conversationalist so far, but the night is still young. He tries again. “So, you’ve eaten here before. What’s good?”

“Oh, man,” Darren says, glancing across at him. “Fucking _everything_. You have no idea.”

It’s not extremely helpful, as advice goes. “Well, I guess I will soon,” Chris replies, and they go back to contemplating their options.

The waitress strolls back up a moment later to take their order, looking almost unbearably smug when she finds them silent. It straightens Chris’s spine and strengthens his resolve, and he smiles very deliberately over at Darren and tells him, “You go first. I’m having a hard time deciding. It all looks so good.”

Whatever he does, it works. Something sparks in Darren’s expression, and he grins widely back before placing his order. When the waitress turns back to Chris, she’s considerably more subdued. 

After she leaves, Darren leans forward on his elbows. “I like your hat,” he announces.

Chris reaches up and touches the brim self-consciously. “Really?”

Darren just keeps beaming at him. “Yeah, I do. I think it’s cute.”

Heat crawls quickly up Chris’s face, but he hopes that it might not be readily apparent in the dim light from the twisted metal sconce on the wall and the tea light on the tabletop. The restaurant is a little swankier than he’d expected, and he has a sudden, nervous thought. “Do you think it’s okay that I wore it?”

“Um, yes,” Darren says, cocking one heavy eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Chris glances around. “Well, it’s kind of a… nice place,” he explains, his voice trailing away into embarrassment.

Darren shrugs. “So what? If they have a problem with it, fuck it. We’re the ones that are paying to eat here.”

“You have a very colorful grasp on the English language, don’t you?” Chris asks wryly. “If I’d have known I was going to hear so many f-bombs tonight, I would have started counting.”

At least Darren has the decency to look somewhat abashed. “Sorry, man. Is it bothering you? I can try to stop.”

“No,” Chris says, smirking a little because he definitely didn’t miss that Darren said he’d _try_. “Besides, I’ve gotten your emails. I just didn’t realize that much cursing could possibly translate over to real life.” 

Darren laughs, then leans even farther forward over the table. “So,” he starts, his voice low as he holds Chris’s eye, “speaking of our correspondence, aren’t you going to ask me?”

“Ask you what?”

“How I got started at PornDogs.com?”

Chris snorts. “I’m — not sure, actually. But okay, I’ll bite: how did you get started at PornDogs.com? Are there some highly specialized videos I should be looking for?”

“Fetishization of the urban chipmunk,” Darren says, immediately and without batting an eyelash.

Chris wrinkles his brow. “…what? Is that a real thing?”

“I don’t know. Probably? Have you _seen_ the internet? Have you seen our website?”

“I must have missed the chipmunk kink section,” Chris remarks, his voice dry.

“Well, I bet you’re going to look for it now,” Darren shoots back cheekily, grinning again. “See if you can find my small screen debut?”

“Tell me,” Chris muses, tilting his head to one side, “is it called chipmunk kink because all the guys are under five-seven?”

As he expected, Darren doesn’t seem offended, and in fact, he laughs gamely. “Chris, didn’t anyone ever tell you that size doesn’t matter? And even if it _did_ , I am definitely… five-ten?” 

“When you stand on tip-toe?” Chris asks, tilting one eyebrow up.

Darren grins. “Maybe.”

Something about the exchange breaks the ice, and the conversation gets a little easier. Chris learns that it’s no coincidence that Darren answered the phone every time he’d called: it turns out that ARC operates several websites, and everyone on the customer service team has a primary assignment. They’re no PornHub though, in terms of volume, and weekday afternoons are the slowest time for the customer service team, so most PornDogs callers get Darren. Chris tries to ask oh-so-casually how Darren ended up working the phones for the _gay_ porn site, but Darren just shrugs and says, “That’s where the job opening was,” which doesn’t at all help Chris figure out if Darren actually _is_ interested in men.

They talk about Chris’s books, and Darren is suitably appreciative. (Actually, he’s kind of over-impressed, but Chris can’t say that he minds.) Darren tells Chris that he and his friends wrote and staged a Harry Potter musical in college, and suddenly, their early conversations make a lot more sense. Apparently, it still exists on YouTube, and Chris makes a mental note to look it up as soon as he gets home. Chris presses him again for a favorite book, but Darren demurs and changes the subject so skillfully that before Chris knows it, they’re debating about which Doctor is the best and Chris forgets all about it.

The food is delicious. Chris thinks is favorite is the tortilla espanola, but it’s hard to decide, especially when Darren lets him taste everything from his plates too. He’d ordered a bunch of things, including a plate of what is essentially hot peppers with salt. Darren eats them until his eyes water, while Chris takes one bite and is forced to drain his water glass immediately. 

Once they’re really talking, it feels comfortable and fun, and Chris thinks that it seems awfully flirty sometimes, but it might just be friendly. By the time they’re arguing over — and eventually agreeing to split — the bill, Chris still isn’t sure whether he’s on a date or not, and then they’re walking to the parking lot.

So, they’re at their cars, and they’re about to say good-bye, and Chris just… has to fucking _know_. He doesn’t know how to play this game, but he’s already sure he doesn’t like it, so he rounds on Darren before Darren can round on him and says, “I had a really good time. Thank you for the lovely… date?”

Darren blinks, and Chris is _sure_ that he doesn’t imagine the momentary flash of alarm on Darren’s features, but his face relaxes just as fast. “You’re welcome.” 

It isn’t _extremely_ reassuring. But Darren hadn’t verbally denied it either, so Chris decides that it’s better to just cut his losses and escape while he still has some dignity. “Okay, so —” He starts to gesture toward his car, but stops dead when he sees the way that Darren is shifting closer — like, inside-his-personal-space-bubble close, and Darren’s all dark-eyed and easy-smiled, and Chris knows with sudden, startling, grab-him-by-the-balls clarity that he’s about to get kissed. 

It’s not the first time, of course. All of his handful of hook-ups had included kissing, but he’s never been kissed after a date, in a parking lot in the dark with his heart pounding like it’s going to split his chest open. Darren’s lips are warm, plush but firm, and parted a little over his own. He doesn’t touch Chris anywhere else at first, but then Chris feels one hand on his waist and Darren tugs him in, and Chris’s hands startle up to land on Darren’s biceps. 

It breaks not long after that, and Darren brings his free hand up to cup Chris’s jaw as he presses their foreheads together. “Well, fuck,” he says quietly.

Chris doesn’t really know how to respond to that, so he pushes forward again, sealing their mouths together, and it’s more heated than before, the sucking sounds of their breaths and a few brief, tantalizing swipes of tongue. They separate again, the _smack_ a little lewder, and Darren repeats, “ _Fuck_.”

“Not on the first date,” Chris jokes weakly, and Darren finally leans away, his eyes coming open as he grins.

“Why, Christopher,” he says, all gallantry, “I would never dream of besmirching your reputation after one dinner. After all, you’re a gentleman.”

Chris quirks an eyebrow. “Who you met on PornDogs.com.”

Darren removes his hand from Chris’s face and presses it to his chest, affecting a wounded expression. “Are you implying that my employer isn’t _gentlemanly_? Because I assure you, PornDogs.com is _all_ about the gentlemen.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Chris mutters. He gives Darren a little shove. “Go home before you embarrass yourself any further.” 

“Trying to get rid of me?” Darren asks, pouting harder.

“Think of it more as… trying to save you from yourself,” Chris retorts, but he doesn’t make any effort to stop Darren from leaning back in for a chaste but lingering kiss.

Darren’s face is still close when he murmurs, “I’ll call you?”

“I hope so,” Chris says.

He waits until he’s in his car and Darren is pulling out of the parking lot before he flops back against his seat and grins like a maniac.

*

It feels more like dating after that. They give up emails and switch to texting. It’s less stilted; in fact, Darren sends him random observations mixed with blatant sexual innuendo at all hours of the day and night. They meet up for a movie one night, and a few days later grab lunch before Chris’s shift at the laundromat. They time it badly, so Darren suggests that they make out in one of their cars to kill the extra half hour. They pick Chris’s because it’s bigger, moving it to a secluded corner of the parking lot. They get off together.

That doesn’t happen in the car. It’s the next weekend, when Darren somehow ends up with two absent roommates and run of his apartment. Dinner is Thai takeout and beer, and it’s followed by a Star Wars movie marathon, because Darren apparently just learned the order you’re _actually_ supposed to watch them in and he wants to share it with Chris. The plan is flawed from the start, because there’s no way they’re ever going to get through six movies, and it all goes off the rails even faster than Chris expected. They’re not even halfway through _A New Hope_ before Darren’s on top of him on the couch. 

On top of him, but still mostly — hovering. Chris hadn’t necessarily intended for things to progress so quickly. He’d been anticipating a slower build, something more about actually liking each other and enjoying each other’s company than the ghosts of hook-ups past, but there’s a physical spark between them that’s impossible to ignore and even harder to tamp down. 

So Chris tries to tilt his legs up and nudge Darren’s hips down, and he presses his hands into Darren’s lower back encouragingly. Darren starts to sway down, but then tears his mouth away from Chris’s to blurt out, “I’m not a porn star.” 

Chris blinks up at him in the dimly-lit room. “I’m… aware?”

Darren shakes his head a little, looking more flustered than Chris has ever seen him. “No, I mean… I know where I work, and _you_ know where I work, and I know that you’ve watched it, and just… fuck. Okay. I’m just trying to say that I’m not, like… I don’t know, a porn star. I haven’t done it with a bunch of guys and have all kinds of crazy moves or whatever. Y’know?” He looks at Chris pleadingly.

“Darren, I never assumed that you’d be a porn star because you work in customer service, okay? Just get down here.” Because Chris is not prepared to die of frustration while Darren rambles and blathers and has performance anxiety an inch and a half from his increasingly impatient erection. 

Chris angles his leg up farther and uses it to tug Darren down, and thankfully, Darren gives up resisting. He covers Chris’s body with a groan that seems to stem all the way up from where their cocks are pressed together, hard against hard through their jeans. His breathing is harsh and shaky as he slams his mouth back down onto Chris’s, and the kiss is open and wet and clumsy as Chris squirms underneath Darren for a better position. He finds it and thrusts his hips up, and Darren rocks down, and Chris’s hands spasm into fists, one in Darren’s hair and one on Darren’s back. 

For a few minutes, they just rut together, grabbing at each other until Darren gets a hold of Chris’s thigh and Chris tugs Darren’s shirt halfway up his back. Chris is surprised when Darren suddenly sits up to pull it off altogether — he’d seemed _so_ far gone, lost to the motion of their bodies together, panting against Chris’s mouth and neck, grunting out swear words under his breath. When he looks back down at Chris, his gaze is dark and wild. 

He’s about to dive back down on top of Chris — he’s already partway there — but Chris stops him with one hand on the damp, warm skin of Darren’s chest. “Wait.”

“Huh?” Darren asks. “I mean, what? Is something wrong?”

Chris snorts. “No, I just — uh, I don’t want to come in my pants.” 

“Oh,” Darren replies, sounding even more dumbstruck than before. “Fuck. So you mean —?”

“Maybe if we just…” Chris’s voice trails away as he reaches for Darren’s fly. He glances back up.

Darren hurries out a “fuck, yeah, okay” and his hands are working alongside Chris’s, trying to help, but really just making everything more complicated. Eventually, Chris drops his hands to his own jeans while Darren gets his dick out. Together, they fumble Chris’s zipper open, and then they’re shoving their pants down and Chris’s shirt up, but he doesn’t get a chance to take it off before Darren is back on top of him, so it stays bunched up under his arms. His jeans are only riding low enough to comfortably free his erection, and Darren’s are around his thighs, but that’s as naked as they’re getting, because Darren is practically _frantic_. He’s actually whining a little in his throat, his bare belly heaving against Chris’s as their cocks slide hot and hard together, and Chris can’t help but match his enthusiasm, no matter how awkward their clothing makes… everything.

Their bodies are pressed close together, but Chris manages to worm a hand in between them. Darren gets with the program more quickly than Chris had expected, making enough space for Chris to get a grip around both of their cocks. It’s a little dry at first, but there’s sweat and there’s precome, and pretty soon it’s _just_ hot. Darren’s gone basically useless, shuddering and puffing hot breaths over Chris’s jaw as he fucks into Chris’s grasp. He comes fast and hard, with an almost pained-sounding _ah!_ and a muttered _fuck-fuck-fuck_ as he jerks and spills onto Chris’s stomach. Chris is close, he’s so close, and he gives a few sharp _thrusts_ before he has to let Darren go, driving himself over the edge and thumping his head back against the pillow, a hoarse, strangled cry escaping his lips.

While he’s recovering, Darren flops down on top of him, and Chris grunts discontentedly as come smears across his torso. “Sorry,” Darren mutters, but he doesn’t actually move. Not away, anyway — instead he wiggles closer and starts loosely mouthing up Chris’s neck. “Fuck, Chris,” he groans. “ _Chris_. That was fucking awesome. Maybe you’re the porn star here.”

“Hardly,” Chris huffs, and then Darren's kissing him into silence.

*

The party is at — someone’s house. Chris asks Darren what the guy’s name is, but he doesn’t recognize it, even after listening to Darren tell stories about his endless stockpile of friends for the past couple weeks. It’s not something Chris dwells on. He’s already so nervous at the prospect of meeting Darren’s twelve thousand friends that it doesn’t matter whether there’s one more that he hasn’t heard of before.

The house is big but fairly run down, and there are obviously a lot of people inside. Chris is relieved that there’s no booming bass or people throwing up on the lawn as they approach, but the nerves shoot right back through his stomach when they push through the door and there are people and red plastic cups and it’s kind of too warm and smells distantly like pot smoke. Darren’s no help; he’s been strange and jittery and keyed-up all night, and his anxious energy is just feeding Chris’s. He shoots Chris an almost maniacal grin, leading him into the party, and before they’re even five steps in the door, there’s a drink in each of their hands, and no one asks Chris whether he’s old enough to drink, so he doesn’t bother to tell them that he’s not.

It’s sort of okay at first. Darren does pretty much all the talking, and he introduces Chris to person after person whose names he’ll never remember, especially not after he finishes his first, then his second (putridly strong) drink. It doesn't escape Chris's notice that Darren doesn't introduce Chris as his boyfriend, but he tries not to let it bother him, because they haven't had anything approaching _that_ conversation yet.

Even though the faces do blur together, a few stick out. There’s one guy, who’s tall and punches Darren in the arm before looping an arm around his neck, and Darren gets tugged over into his side, where he tucks right in. There’s Dianna, the blonde one who looks like a pin-up girl and who apparently sits in the cubicle next to Darren where they work. They tease each other like they’re flirting, and Chris thinks _great, that’s what they do every day_.

They get separated, and Chris sort of hangs at the edges of one group, then another, and although people are perfectly polite, it’s clear that they all know each other and they don’t make any concerted effort to draw Chris in. Finally, he makes his way into the kitchen to get another drink. He's lost track of how much he's already had, and he feels plenty unsteady already, so he tries to find something that’s _not_ basically straight booze. It’s a lost cause. He’s just about to head off with another cup of whatever gasoline-and-rubbing-alcohol combo he’s been drinking all night when he notices that Darren’s cornered on the far side of the fridge, his back to Chris.

“…cute,” one of the guys is saying. He’s leering. “So, you’ve hit that, right?”

And Darren’s laughing and shaking his head. “You are such an asshole. I’m not answering that.”

“That means no,” the guy says, and Chris can hear in his voice how drunk he is.

“It _means_ you’re an asshole.”

“ _No_. It means _no_ , because that’s why you’re here, right? With him? Get a little shit-faced and fuck around? That’s your thing, right?” 

The tiny girl standing next to him suddenly pokes him in the arm. “Shut _up_ , Zach. God, you’re awful when you’re drunk,” she complains, even though she doesn’t sound much better off. “But seriously, Dare, when you’ve got this —” she waves a hand “— out of your system or whatever, and you’re ready to date someone for real, I know a girl —”

“Oh, you mean Sasha?” the guy interrupts, and he’s barely able to get the name out.

“Yeah, Sasha. She’s hot and she’s a ton of fun; you’ll love her,” the girl finishes.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Darren says, and Chris _thinks_ he’s just being placating, but his hand goes tight around his Solo cup just the same. 

“You do that. Hey, you wanna smoke? I think Maria's sharing out back.” 

“Nah,” Darren replies easily. “I think I’m gonna go find Chris. He’s probably wondering where I —” He steps out from behind the fridge, and his face lights up when he sees Chris standing frozen halfway across the room — but then, when he catches sight of Chris’s expression, it slowly falls. “Chris?”

Chris turns on his heel and walks away. It’s a treacherous path to the front door, because the alcohol is _really_ starting to hit him, and there are too many people, so he’s ping-ponging between them until he can finally let himself out and let the night air cool his hot face. He realizes that he’s still holding his cup, and he throws it aside in disgust. 

Of course, Darren bangs out after him. “Chris, wait up, come on.”

Chris screeches to a halt in the middle of the yard and spins around so fast it makes him feel a little sick. “Why, so you can _hit this_ and then dump me?”

Darren blinks and slows his approach. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and guess that you heard that conversation?”

“No shit,” Chris mutters.

“Chris, what you heard is _not_ what I want,” Darren says carefully. “Zach is a friend of a friend — not even, he’s an _acquaintance_ of a friend, and he and Mel are both dicks.”

“So you don’t want to fuck me?” Chris asks, his voice hard and challenging.

Darren steps forward a few more paces, shushing him. “Sshhh, you’re drunk. And of course I want that. Duh.”

Chris lowers his voice, but he doesn’t relent. “And then?”

“And then what?”

“And then you move on to some _hot girl_? Because that’s what you do — that’s your thing?” 

Darren looks pained. “Chris, this really isn’t a conversation we should be having in the middle of someone’s yard when we’ve both been drinking.”

“So you don’t deny it?” 

“Chris, please,” Darren says, and a quiet note of pleading enters his voice. “We should talk about this. I _want_ to talk to you about this, but not here and not now.” 

The one thing that gets through to Chris is that no, Darren’s not denying it. He sets his jaw. “You’ve got that right. I’m going home.” He turns and goes back to walking away. Darren grabs for his elbow, but Chris shakes it off, almost tripping over a sidewalk crack in the process.

Darren doesn’t touch him again, but follows along a step behind. “I can’t drive you yet.” 

“I don’t give a shit,” Chris grumbles. “I’ll find some other way.” He wraps his arms around himself, not sure if he’s angry anymore or just sad or hurt, or maybe all of them.

“Let me call you a cab,” Darren begs. “Please. Chris.” As Chris steps stutter to a stop, he adds, “It’s too far to walk.”

Chris shrugs as Darren steps tentatively up next to him. “I can take care of myself,” he says quietly, looking at the ground.

“I have no doubt.” Darren shuffles his feet and he looks like he _wants_ to reach out again but he doesn’t. “Let me call you a cab. Please. I just want to make sure you get home safe.” 

“Okay,” Chris says sulkily, but only because suddenly he’s just _tired_ and he really, really doesn’t want to walk that far. He sits down where he is. “I’ll wait here.” 

Darren crouches down next to him. He’s already got his phone out. “Do you promise you’re not going to go anywhere? Are you going to be sick?”

“Yes.” Chris nods. “I mean, yes, I’ll wait here, and no, I’m not going to puke.”

“Do you need money?”

Chris glances over to see Darren extending several wrinkled bills. “I don’t want your money,” he grunts.

“I know. But do you need it to get home? Do you have enough for the cab?”

“I’ll use a card,” Chris says.

“Just take the money.” Darren shoves the cash into his frame of vision.

Chris snatches it. “Fine.” Anything. Anything to get Darren to leave him alone and to get home.

“Okay.” Darren straightens up and retreats, and Chris listens to his fading voice talking to the cab company. 

He pretends not to notice that Darren hovers in the yard of the party house until Chris is safely on his way.

*

At first, Chris isn’t sure what wakes him up too early the next morning. The fact that it _is_ morning means it’s too early, so it must have been something. It’s certainly not a sweeping sense of shame and embarrassment from storming out of the party and causing a scene like he was a contestant on _The Bachelor_. It’s not the residual anger and confusion and hurt about whatever the hell is going on with Darren. He knows, because all of those feelings take twenty or thirty seconds to wash over him. 

There's another knock at the door. Oh.

Chris flips over and buries his face in a different pillow. His room is dim, but it’s obviously sunny outside and he doesn’t want to take any chances that a stray sunbeam is going to find its way into his eyeballs, which are throbbing dully, in rhythm with the rest of his head. 

Whoever's at the door knocks firmly for a third time.

With a guttural noise somewhere between a groan and a growl, Chris tosses his covers back and rolls unsteadily out of bed. His headache _spikes_ , but he just grumbles and staggers through the apartment, trying to avoid all the furniture with his eyes mostly closed. It _might_ be an emergency, but he has a terrible hunch that it's probably someone and something else entirely. 

And of course, it’s Darren standing on his doorstep, a paper bag in one hand and a sheepish expression on his face. Chris squints at him viciously, his hangover clawing at the inside of his skull in retaliation. 

“I’m sorry?” Darren squeaks, holding out the bag. 

Chris looks down at it, then back up at Darren’s face.

Predictably, Darren starts rambling. “It’s breakfast. And I know you probably don’t think you want food, but it’s from this diner that I know that has, like, the best greasy breakfast food. Perfect for rough mornings. There’s some water, too, and aspirin.” 

He holds the bag out a bit farther, shakes it a little. Chris takes it from him gingerly and grunts, “Thanks.” He starts to swing the door shut.

“Chris, wait,” Darren says quickly. He grabs the door handle, but when Chris glares at his hand, Darren releases it again. “Can we just — talk for a few minutes? Please?”

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” Chris rasps out.

“Um… eleven-thirty? Almost, anyway. The diner stops serving breakfast at eleven, so I couldn’t wait any later.” 

Chris frowns. “Tomorrow is later.”

And Darren just — deflates. “I… I’m sorry. I wanted to make things right as soon as I could but I — clearly fucked that up too. I’ll go.” He’s not meeting Chris’s eyes any more, and he looks so dejected that Chris just — _can’t_. 

He swings the door back open. “Fine. Come in. You’ve got five minutes.” 

They end up in Chris’s living room on opposite ends of the couch. Despite his better judgment, Chris fishes out the water and the aspirin and throws back a few pills. His nausea asserts itself firmly when he smells the food, though, so he rolls the bag quickly back shut.

“Chris, I’m sorry,” Darren says once Chris droops back against the cushions.

“You said that already,” Chris replies wearily. “Try something else.”

Darren pauses, and then starts again, cautiously. “What you heard — wasn’t exactly the truth.”

Chris makes a _hurry up_ gesture. “Sounds like it wasn’t exactly a lie either. Just cut to the chase.”

He hears Darren suck in a heavy breath and then release it again before he speaks. “I’ve never really — done any of this with a guy before,” he finally admits.

“Any of what?” Chris asks, brow furrowing. “…Sex?” It doesn’t make sense, but his brain is too fuzzy to make much sense of anything.

Darren shakes his head. “No. Well, yes. I think. I’ve made out with guys a couple of times, just at parties and stuff. You know. One time for sure I was too drunk for anything more to happen. You know,” he repeats, glancing over at Chris.

“Nice,” Chris replies flatly.

“Oh, because you’ve never been shit-faced?” Darren asks, cocking an eyebrow. “Which one of us is hungover right now?”

Chris gives a twitchy shrug, because that’s not really the point. He gestures for Darren to go on.

“Anyway, I mean, I’ve been attracted to guys, like, since forever. But I thought that was pretty normal, right? Like, people are attractive. And then all the dating shit started, and girls were always really interested in me, so I just ended up dating girls. I’ve had mostly long relationships, so it wasn’t like I was dating around to even _question_ —” He shakes his head. “I’ve only ever dated girls.” 

There’s a pause, that Chris eventually fills with an “oh,” because he isn’t sure what else to say.

“So I guess I’ve been kind of thinking of myself as — straight. Even though I don’t know if I ever have been. And it’s… it’s different to realize you want to _act_ on something else, you know? Like, really fucking act on it with flowers and dates and, like, everything. That’s probably a shitty thing to say. I mean, I know there’s nothing wrong with it and it shouldn’t make a difference. But I can’t help it — it’s one thing to say, oh hey, that guy’s cute and another to be like, I want to fucking woo this guy. It just… it is.”

It’s all a lot for Chris to take in, especially when he still kind of feels like he got run over by a truck. He hears _straight_ , and he hears _flowers and dates and wooing_ too, and Darren’s still hanging his head and now he’s refusing to look Chris in the eye. “Darren —” Chris’s voice is still coming out like he’s talking over sandpaper, so he clears his throat and tries again. “Darren, I’m not going to judge you because you have to sort out what you’re feeling about your sexuality maybe not being exactly what you thought it was. _I_ would be an asshole if I did. And I want to be supportive, and I’m happy to support you as your friend, but… I don’t see how getting into a relationship is going to help you right now. I think you should do the sorting out part first.” 

Darren nods. “You’re probably right.” He closes his mouth, and Chris can see Darren’s jaw working for a moment, like he’s clenching it, before he bursts out, “I really fucking want to be in one though. With you.” 

Despite his muzzy, pounding head and his still-tacky mouth, Chris’s heart flutters. He feels his lips tugging up into a smile and he tilts his head to see Darren watching him, half of his face taken up by his huge, earnest eyes. “I want that too,” Chris says quietly, his pulse thudding against his veins, nerves and excitement and anxiety. “So let me know if and when you’re ready.” 

“And if I said I was ready now?” Darren asks, his tone indicating that he knows what the answer is going to be.

“I’d ask you to take a few days to think on it,” Chris confirms.

Darren nods, then runs his hands over his face. When it emerges again, there’s a rueful smile on it. “Fuck, aren’t I older than you? How are you the one who’s _way_ more mature on this couch?”

Chris shrugs. “You should probably get used to it,” he says, trying a joke. It works: Darren grins, much more fully this time. “I mean, if we…” Chris lets his voice trail away.

“If we,” Darren agrees, and it sounds reassuring, even though the words are essentially meaningless. “You should eat your breakfast and lie back down. Watch some shitty movies or something. Sleep more.”

“That would be good,” Chris says, and he can’t help but feel relieved. A heavy conversation and a hangover are a bad combination. 

“Can I kiss you?” Darren blurts. “Good-bye, I mean. For now,” he adds quickly.

It’s an appealing idea, but Chris feels a rush of pure panic, because his mouth tastes like he slept with yesterday’s socks in it. And in this hypothetical situation, he’d been wearing the socks while he hiked through a swamp. “I haven’t even brushed—” 

“I don’t care,” Darren interrupts; he scoots over, cups Chris’s face in his hands, and presses their lips together. 

Chris tries to hold his breath at first, to keep it short and chaste, but Darren keeps kissing him, soft-firm, an insistent, rolling pressure that Chris eventually surrenders to. Darren doesn’t kiss him deeply, but he cracks his mouth and traces his tongue along Chris’s upper lip. Chris meets it just briefly, and Darren’s fingers tighten along his skull, then release. Hazily, Chris opens his eyes.

Darren’s face is close, so Chris can clearly see when the vulnerable look in his eyes fades away, replaced with a dangerous twinkle. “You weren’t kidding about your breath,” he whispers.

“Oh my god,” Chris groans, shoving back, the sudden movement making his head throb. “I fucking warned you. Who even took me to a party last night?”

“And who was pouring booze down your throat? Because it wasn’t me.”

“You would if I’d let you.”

Darren shrugs and climbs to his feet. “Maybe next time.”

Chris stands and follows him out of the room. “Next time,” he says dubiously.

“I’ll be in touch, Chris, I promise,” Darren says at the door. He reaches out to squeeze Chris’s shoulder, and then, like he can’t help it, he swoops in to press one more light kiss against Chris’s mouth. “Talk to you soon?”

“Okay,” Chris replies, and then Darren is gone. 

And Chris wants to believe that he’ll hear from Darren again, but he knows that he might not. 

*

For the first few days, Chris doesn’t. He tries to focus on his writing and just… be okay with it. It’s not like he hasn’t been single for basically his entire life, but there’s a certain sharp disappointment about _finally_ having something with potential, something to look forward to — and then having it suddenly be gone. His writing feels exceptionally uninspired at first, but he forces himself to get his shit together and buckle back down.

Darren does text him on day number five. It’s nothing earth-shattering, just a note about _Downton Abbey_ , which he’s catching up on. Chris is happy to get it, but deep down inside, where he doesn’t even want to admit it to himself, he’s disappointed that it’s nothing more… _more_.

So they reestablish a tentative conversation, one that’s conducted entirely over text message and doesn’t touch on anything more serious than the next few Marvel movies. It goes on and on, days turning into weeks, and Chris starts to think that maybe all they’ll ever have is strange, stilted electronic exchanges until it all trails off into nothingness. The texts keep coming though, and Chris can’t help but wonder why Darren keeps sending them, when they’re just trapped in some sort of strange homeostasis that’s going nowhere.

Then, Darren sends Chris a link. 

Chris has no idea what to expect — something X-Men-related, based on their recent discussions — but instead, it’s a link to a new video on Darren’s YouTube channel. Chris had thoroughly stalked it as soon as he’d been able to after that first date, of course, and he’d discovered that Darren’s actually quite talented. He plays a bunch of instruments and his singing voice is warm and clear and honest. 

The new video is called _For Chris_. After a few quiet breaths, Chris closes the browser on his phone and gets out his laptop instead. 

There’s not a lot of introduction to the clip — just Darren looking earnestly into the camera and saying, “Chris, I’ve been thinking a lot lately, and I just wanted to tell you… well, this.” Chris doesn’t know [the song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v9CoHvCLuBI), but he googles some of the lyrics and finds that it was recorded in the mid-nineties by a local Minnesota band. He has no idea where or how Darren finds this shit, but Chris doesn’t really care when the song is called “I Miss You” and Darren’s singing _I miss your laughing lips, I miss your eyes and hips, do you miss me? ‘Cause I miss you_ , and the video is called _For Chris_. 

And then Chris commits a cardinal Internet sin: he scrolls down to the comment section under the video. Darren has a relatively small but committed group of followers, and they’re currently discussing whether Darren’s name sounds better with Christina or Christine or Chrissy, since he obviously has a new girlfriend. Chris crashes back to earth with a jolt of annoyance. He scrolls quickly back up and restarts the song, hoping to soothe his jangled nerves. When he feels a little calmer, he reaches for his phone and rapidly taps out a text.

_To Darren: Thank you. I don’t know what to say._

He doesn’t have to wait long for a reply.

 _From Darren: Say that you’ll go out with me this weekend?_ Chris can’t help the faint smile that creeps over his lips, and when he doesn’t respond right away, Darren also sends: _I’m not sure if I got the point across, but I miss you_.

They agree to meet up for dinner and then something quiet — an acoustic open mic night at some haunt of Darren’s. Once the details are arranged, there’s a pause, and Chris can’t seem to help himself from asking: _Have you seen the comments under that video?_

_From Darren: No_  
From Darren: Why?  
From Darren: Hold on a second 

Then, a few seconds later:

_From Darren: aw, fucking hell, brb  
From Darren: okay, look at it again_

Chris curiously refreshes the page, and he can’t stop the traitorous flip his stomach does when he sees that the title of the video is now _For ChrisTOPHER_. There’s an description now too: _who isn’t my boyfriend yet but hopefully he will be someday. soon_.

*

Darren seems almost shy when they meet in the parking lot outside the restaurant (because Chris didn’t want the temptation of his home and his bed to confuse things). He brings Chris a six-pack of Diet Coke in glass bottles (because _I thought you’d like this more than flowers_ ) and looks at Chris like he hung the moon. It’s not too long into dinner before he’s back to being his usual, boisterous self, but there’s something tempered about it. Less manic. More grounded.

The open mic night bears little resemblance to the night of the party, and Chris is glad. There’s alcohol, but he stays away from it, opting for soda instead. Some of Darren’s friends are there, but not _those_ assholes, and they’re a little obnoxious, but they’re perfectly nice to Chris, and Darren is attentive without making a joke of it… most of the time, anyway. And even then, it’s a joke Chris is in on.

It’s no huge surprise when Darren gets up to sing. It’s a little surprising when he dedicates his performance to “Chris, that handsome guy right there” and points right at him. He announces that the song is “[Please Forgive Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qmFRXwYKQwU%22)” by David Gray (because _I need to apologize for not being upfront when we first met, and because — well, because_ ). He sings _want to tell you just how good it feels when you look at me that way_ , and he stares at Chris from behind the microphone and Chris thinks maybe the lyrics are backwards.

Darren walks Chris out when Chris _insists_ that he has to go, and Chris lets Darren kiss him in the dark. It’s not all that different from that other parking lot, a few months ago, except that it means more. Darren’s glowing practically as bright as the street lights when he lets Chris go so that he can climb into his car, and he’s still standing there watching Chris drive away when Chris makes his way onto the street.

*

It’s strange and exciting for Chris to be in a relationship with someone who’s older and more confident than he is, but who actually has less experience with sex. (Well, sex with men, anyway.) Strange and exhilarating don’t really cover it — it’s also extremely hot. It’s hot the first time Darren gets a hand inside of Chris’s pants and jerks him off with enthusiastic, uneven strokes. It’s hot when they’re grinding together on Chris’s couch, and Darren rocks deliberately back into Chris’s hands on his ass, groaning when Chris’s fingers slip into his crack over his briefs. It’s especially hot to be on the receiving end of Darren Criss learning how to give a blowjob, and then discovering that he really likes to suck cock. A lot. Almost as much as he likes to be sucked off, and that’s saying something. 

And then something else happens.

To celebrate their _official_ two-month anniversary, Darren invites Chris to come to his apartment after Chris’s shift at the laundromat is over. Chris knows the apartment is going to be empty, but beyond that, he’s in the dark about Darren's plans. He's curious, because Darren’s being extra cagey about the whole thing, but when Chris shows up, it’s just dinner. He feels bad thinking of it like that: Darren made it for him and it’s delicious, so it’s not _just_ dinner, but he’s not sure why Darren was so skittish about it.

Finally, when they’re done eating and the dishes are in the sink and the leftovers are in the fridge, Darren says, “So, I kind of have another surprise for you.” He almost looks — timid. Or nervous. Or something.

It’s not a look that Darren employs often, and Chris narrows his eyes and cocks his head. “What?” he asks suspiciously.

“Just —” Darren grabs his hand and starts to tow him out of the kitchen “— come see.”

Chris drags his feet a little, but not much. There’s some wariness, because he’s still not exactly sure what goes on in Darren’s strange, busy mind, but mostly he just wants to find out what the fuss is about. It becomes rapidly clear that they're headed for the bedroom, but maybe it doesn’t even have to do with sex. 

Except for the way there’s anxious, excited energy virtually pouring off of Darren. It’s definitely about sex.

The first thing Chris notices when Darren swings the door open is that the room is as clean as he’s ever seen it. He’s about to joke that it must _really_ be a special occasion if Darren actually picked his dirty t-shirts up off the floor when he sees what’s sitting in the middle of the (for maybe the third time in its life) neatly made bed.

There are wrist restraints, black leather cuffs with a soft-looking lining. And there’s a length of dark fabric. Chris doesn’t need to ask to know what it’s for. It’s a blindfold. “Oh,” he says.

“Trussed-Up Cum Shot,” Darren explains quietly. He’s watching Chris’s face, and when Chris doesn’t respond, he starts to ramble. “I mean, we definitely don’t have to. If you don’t want. I’m not even sure which one you — thought about. If you did. Or like, which way — because I’d be cool with either, and —”

“I’d be blindfolded,” Chris interrupts him. “The first time anyway.”

Darren goes silent for a minute, and then he says, “Only if you want to.”

“That… won’t be a problem.” There’s already heat gathering deep down in Chris’s body, settling in below his belly. His breath is going shallow, and there’s _something_ prickling up the backs of his legs.

“Oh. Okay,” Darren replies. “Well. Good.”

Chris might have kept standing there, shell shocked, for another few seconds, but Darren doesn’t wait for him to recover, stepping right up into Chris’s space, grabbing him around the base of his skull and kissing him with a firm, determined press of lips. There’s something calming and familiar about it, even though they’re both a little jittery, and Chris reaches out to steady his hands on Darren’s waist. As soon as Chris is fully participating, Darren starts walking backwards, until he hits the bed and falls unceremoniously out of the kiss, like he hadn’t been expecting it to be there. Chris drops down beside him, and one of the cuffs slides into the indentation made by his weight. Chris inhales sharply when it bumps his thigh and, turning away from Darren, he picks it up, holding it in front of his face, examining the dark leather and the shining silver.

“What do you think?” Darren asks, and his voice sounds nervous underneath the growing rasp of his arousal. “I mean, do you — like them?”

“Yeah,” Chris says. “They’re good.” 

“Good,” Darren murmurs. He takes the cuff out of Chris’s hands and leans across his body to retrieve everything else and put it all on top of the rickety pressboard shelving next to the bed. Then, taking advantage of his position, he kisses Chris hard, pushing him back and straddling his body on the edge of the bed. “Let’s worry about them in a minute,” he mumbles against Chris’s lips, and he works his tongue in between them.

Chris makes a muffled noise of agreement, and they start stringing together long moments of making out, straining hot and heavy, rubbing together as they get hard and then harder. It’s not long before Chris kind of does forget about everything else and totally relaxes into it — that is, until Darren reaches for his hands, stretching them up and pinning them against the mattress alongside Chris’s head. He leans down into them, flattening his forearms along Chris’s and letting his weight hold Chris down. Chris shivers, even as his cock jumps against his fly. “Yeah?” Darren breathes.

“Yeah,” Chris agrees, his heart thudding in a way that feels almost dangerous.

Darren angles his head and hums into the hollow of thin skin under Chris’s jaw. “Fuck. So you like it?”

“What do you think?” Chris grumbles. He’s pretty sure it’s Darren’s hip that his erection is about to poke a hole through, after all.

There’s a brief sting as Darren nips him in retaliation. “Don’t be an asshole.”

“Don’t bite me,” Chris warns him.

“No?” Darren asks. He licks gently over the spot, then lets his teeth graze and has the audacity to laugh when Chris squirms underneath him.

Chris huffs. “Fine,” he amends. “Don’t bite me where people can see. I just applied for a book store job and I don’t want to be covered in hickies if I get an interview.”

“Well, I wouldn’t dream of fucking that up for you,” Darren says, and then he shifts abruptly to nudge Chris's shirt down with his chin, suck up the skin under Chris’s collarbone, and set his teeth into it. Chris tries to buck up, to do _something_ , but he’s pinned down under Darren’s thighs and his ass and his arms, so he just writhes some more. Darren makes a pleased noise and mouths a wet trail to Chris’s lips, where he presses one, hard kiss before pushing himself away. “Put your head up by the pillows?”

“Okay,” Chris says, already shifting as Darren climbs away and tugs his own shirt off. 

“You too,” Darren says, and that’s just fine with Chris, so he wastes no time in chucking his t-shirt off, and his hands are moving to the waistband of his jeans when Darren stops him with a quick, “No.”

Chris pauses, his fingers already on the button. “No?”

Darren looks a little uncertain again. “You know how this starts,” he explains, gesturing from himself to Chris, then to the restraints and the blindfold. “You know, I start out on top of you, and I try to put your hands above your head, but you keep grabbing me, and I say _if you’re going to be so fucking handsy, I’ll just have to cuff those pretty little_ —”

“We don’t have to do it exactly like that,” Chris cuts him off, because Darren’s trying to imitate the line in the same cheesy, too-deep voice of the guy on the video and it’s kind of killing the mood. Getting through the dialogue in porn is more an exercise in exposition and suffering than anything else, anyway.

“No?” Darren asks, suddenly looking a little bewildered. Hot too — it’s not lost on Chris that he’s standing there with nothing but unfastened jeans on, just like in the video — but definitely confused.

“Why don’t we just — do it like us?” Chris suggests. “No ridiculous commentary.” He eyes Darren for a moment. “Or no more than usual.”

Darren rolls his eyes, but instead of firing back, he crawls up next to Chris on the bed, looking uncharacteristically somber. “I just want this to be good for you,” he says, quiet and earnest.

Chris blinks at him. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I’m just — new to all this.” Darren shrugs. “This is one of your fantasies. I just want it to be as good as you think it’s going to be. Or even better, fuck. So I thought that if we just… did what happens in the video. I mean. It’s your fantasy,” he repeats with another twitch of his shoulders.

Although Chris hasn’t had much cause to doubt Darren’s affection for him since they’d gotten their shit together, Darren’s not always so open and vulnerable. It warms Chris inside, but he hides his smile and says, “Didn’t I _just_ say that we should try to avoid cheesy commentary?”

Darren scowls playfully. “Dick.”

Chris gives up and lets his lips tilt into a grin. “Darren, it’s not about reenacting some porno. It’s about the — idea of it, and wanting to do that. With you. I want to do those things with you, the way we want to do them. The way it feels good for us.”

It definitely doesn’t feel like any kind of grand, romantic speech, but Darren’s gazing at him with soft eyes when he’s done talking. “Okay,” he says, and his voice is tender.

Which kind of makes Chris feel awkward. “Okay, so tie me up and fuck my mouth already,” he adds, and even though he’s serious, he’s kind of laughing and his face flushes hot.

Darren’s eyebrows quirk up. “Okay,” he repeats, leaning over Chris and grabbing his face to tilt it up. “That is… really fucking okay.”

His mouth over Chris’s is hot and open, but the kisses are deliberate, not frenzied. Darren releases Chris’s jaw as he rolls back over Chris’s body, and he finds one of Chris’s wrists, then the other, bringing them up above their heads on the pillow. Chris slides them up himself to take hold of the thin metal bars of the bed frame, and Darren pulls away. “Yeah,” he says, “wait there.”

Chris does, cracking his eyes open when Darren’s mouth is gone. His cock is rock hard with the anticipation of what he knows is coming, and when Darren kneels up to retrieve the restraints, Chris sees that Darren’s jeans are drooping down his hips, the open vee of his fly revealing his own erection, already going shiny at the tip.

When Darren settles back down, his ass plump and firm over Chris’s thighs, he holds up one cuffs and meets Chris’s eyes questioningly. Chris nods and says, “Yeah.” 

Darren leans over him, kissing and licking briefly up the sensitive inside of Chris’s left arm where his skin is pale as paper, and then he fastens the cuff securely around Chris’s wrist. “How does it feel?” he asks when he’s done, looking at his handiwork with wide, dark eyes.

“Good,” Chris answers gruffly, although that doesn’t really cover it. It feels snug, and he definitely knows it’s there. It’s nerve wracking. It’s exciting. “Do the other one.”

Darren repeats the line of light, disorganized brushes of his lips and swipes of his tongue up Chris’s other arm, and then Chris is wearing both cuffs. Darren eases both of Chris’s hands farther between the metal bars behind the pillows. “If you want these off at any point — just say the word, or yell, or bite me, whatever you have to do.”

“Bite you?” 

“Well, you know. If you can’t — talk.”

“I’m not going to bite your dick.”

“Well, I hope not. But if you need the cuffs off and I’m not paying attention — just know the option is there.”

Chris looks up at Darren and how sincere he is — about _dick biting_ — and he says, “…just fasten them?”

Darren refocuses and closes the clasp between the cuffs and Chris is caught. He knows it, intellectually, but he tugs his arms back toward his body anyway, his breath hitching when the buckle between the cuffs catches and clatters against the metal of the bed frame.

“Is that okay?” Darren asks, poised like he’s about to open them again already.

“Oh, yeah,” Chris says thickly, and Darren flattens himself over Chris’s chest again, licking fast and wet into his mouth, holding his head in both hands. Chris jerks his arms instinctively to grab back, but he only succeeds in clanking the cuffs against the bed again, and he finds himself whining low in his throat. Darren rubs his tongue against Chris’s, against the roof of Chris’s mouth, pushing Chris’s head back into the pillow and his body into the mattress. Chris gets some purchase with his heels and _grinds_ his hips up into Darren’s triumphantly.

Darren grunts and rocks down, yanking his mouth away and rasping out, “Fuck, this is hot.”

Chris goes to agree, but Darren’s lips are on his again, though not for long. This time, when Darren takes his mouth away, he stays close, and then he runs his hands up along the sides of Chris’s face, brushing his thumbs tenderly across the skin under Chris’s eyebrows, making his eyes flutter shut. “The blindfold, yeah?” Darren asks.

“Mmhmm,” Chris hums. When his eyes drift back open, he sees Darren climbing off the bed and shucking his jeans. He grabs the fabric off the bedside shelving and turns back around. Chris lifts his head obligingly.

“Jesus fuck, look at you,” Darren breathes.

“Can’t,” Chris shoots back, feeling a rush from seeing Darren so affected. “Especially not after you blindfold me.”

Darren huffs out a breath, but then there’s a sudden sparkle in his eyes, and he says, “ _So, you wanna fuck with the lights off, huh? Then I guess_ —”

“Please don’t,” Chris cuts him off. “Just — blindfold.” He tilts his head forward a bit more.

Chris closes his eyes as Darren crosses back over to the bed, and then the space behind his eyes goes pitch black as Darren covers them with the fabric. He ties it snug, but not tight. “Is that okay?” His voice is quiet, and he leaves his hands resting loosely over the knot, supporting Chris’s head. Chris is glad; for the moment, it makes him feel more grounded.

“Yeah,” Chris says, and he knows it comes out a little strangled.

“Are you sure?”

Chris nods, and Darren slowly draws his hands away. He accepts Darren’s mouth a few seconds later — it’s soft now, just gentle, for long moments. That helps too, and it calms the tremors that had started to rattle through Chris’s body. Then Darren starts lightening the pressure of his kisses, slowing the pace until he leaves one last feather-light touch against Chris’s lips and withdraws. Chris waits, breathing shallowly through his dropped-open mouth.

Darren hovers over Chris, and Chris is left waiting for long enough that he’s _just_ about to say something, but suddenly, there’s a mouth on his nipple, lips and tongue and teeth, pulling wet and insistent and sending a zing of pleasure straight to his balls. The words die on a sharp _hah_ as Chris arches his chest up into it. “ _Fuck_ , Darren,” he hisses. “That is not fucking fair.” He _taught_ Darren that trick. 

There’s a disembodied chuckle as Darren releases the nipple, and then, after another string of of _absolutely maddening_ empty seconds, he drags a series of slippery kisses along Chris’s collarbone, only interrupting himself to bite it lightly here and there. Chris can already see how it’s going to go, and even though he grumbles and complains and goads Darren with frustrated _come ons_ , it’s kind of exciting and erotic not to know what’s coming next — teeth around his earlobe, a tongue trailing across his belly, rough kisses to his mouth — and not to have any control over it, no matter how much he pulls at the cuffs. It’s hot too the way that he can _hear_ how turned on Darren is getting, how he’s attuned to Darren’s ragged breath and muttered curses and pleasured groans in a way he usually isn’t.

He’s glad, though, when Darren takes a more direct course of action, working down the center of his chest and stomach, fumbling for his fly at the same time. Chris is achingly hard, has been for too long, and he’s a mess from all the precome he’s been leaking. Darren hums his approval after he lowers Chris’s zipper, rumbling out, “Well, well, well… what do we have here?” Chris wants to answer that with a scathing remark, but it’s difficult when Darren is fucking _nuzzling_ his cock through the damp fabric of his briefs and then turning his head to suck at it and Chris’s dick underneath. 

“Just take them off,” Chris grunts, because he’s pretty sure that if he doesn’t get some direct stimulation soon, he’s going to be forced to break either the bed frame or the cuffs to get his hands free and do it himself.

Darren does, shoving Chris’s pants and underwear down far enough that Chris can kick them the rest of the way off. When they’re settled again, Darren doesn’t waste any time sucking the head of Chris’s dick into his mouth. Chris doesn’t know it’s coming, and he jerks up, forcing more of his cock between Darren’s lips, but Darren doesn’t complain. He barely falters. Instead, after a brief startled noise, he just rubs up against it with his tongue and suckles harder.

Chris squirms furiously against the mattress, more so than usual because without being able to see or grab, all he can do is _feel_ it and _take_ it, and it’s bordering on unbearable. He’s moving so much that Darren grabs his hips to hold him in place, and that’s better and worse all at once, because he can’t move his arms and he’s pinned to the bed and Darren’s mouth is driving him crazy. At the same time, he feels anchored again and he starts to lose himself to it, shallowly rolling his body up against Darren’s hands.

Then Darren pulls off. 

“Don’t worry,” Darren mumbles in response to Chris’s noise of protest. “I’ll get you. But we should do this part first.” He walks his way up Chris’s body as he talks, until he’s straddling Chris’s sides. “I have plans.”

“I guess there’s a first time for everything,” Chris snarks, but it's mostly air.

“Hey!” Darren protests, but whatever else he was planning on saying dies in his throat as Chris tilts his head up and lets his jaw list open. 

“Come on,” Chris whispers.

Darren’s breath hitches audibly, and then he tucks one hand behind Chris’s skull to guide his head forward, and Chris feels Darren’s cock close to his face. He rubs along the length of it with his parted lips, and he’s almost hyper-aware of the whining groan that it elicits. Darren starts rocking, just tiny motions against Chris’s face, and Chris lets his tongue creep out to run along the shaft, operating by feel. He can hear every noise Darren makes, feel Darren’s fingers tightening in his hair, and he’s so much more _aware_ of it all like this. “Okay,” Darren says shakily, “okay.” He draws back, and Chris purses his lips to chase the head of Darren’s cock with one last, chaste kiss. “Ready?”

Chris nods and opens his mouth again, and Darren huffs out a _fuck_ , then starts sliding in. 

Not being able to see makes Chris feel clumsy, but he closes his lips around Darren’s cock all the same and sucks as Darren presses in further. Darren grunts and moves his hand from his dick — where he had been using it to guide himself in — to get a firm grip around the back of Chris’s skull. Chris can’t be sure, but he thinks he feels the bed frame rattle like Darren had grabbed it with the other.

Darren starts rolling his hips, shallowly at first, then deeper, and harder. Chris breathes carefully through his nose and forces his gag reflex to subside, hollowing his cheeks around Darren’s cock. He prides himself on giving a good blowjob, but Darren seems to be coming unraveled even faster than usual — not that Darren can ever really brag about his stamina when he’s getting blown. He’s moving in uneven jerks before Chris even has the chance to try anything fancy, and he yanks himself back out of Chris’s mouth with a gasp, then lets out a string of curse words in a harsh, desperate whine. The sound of him jerking his cock is unmistakable, and Chris waits, leaving his mouth ajar. 

Even though Chris knows it’s coming, he jumps when the first spurt of come lands warm on his cheek. There are more, while Darren grits out a rasping _fuck-ohshit-fuckfuck_ , but eventually, his body goes slack, slumped partway down over Chris’s and wracked by the occasional tremor. Chris, meanwhile, is getting kind of caught up in the fact that it actually happened. He’s _actually_ blindfolded and handcuffed to a bed, with come _actually_ dripping down his face. He thinks about Trussed-Up Cum Shot, and he tries to imagine what _he_ must look like, and he’s so turned on he can barely _breathe_.

He’s afraid it’s going to take Darren a while to be ready to do anything to help him, but Darren interrupts Chris's musing just a few moments later with a wide-open, languid kiss; he runs the flat of his tongue over Chris’s lips, and Chris tries to return it a little, but eventually just has to relinquish the kiss and let Darren lap all over his face to clean him up. When he’s done, Darren returns to Chris’s mouth, kissing him there again, but it’s distracted, and he’s clearly reaching for something with one arm, and there’s a _click_ , and then Darren leans away. He’s getting out lube, Chris realizes, and he can’t help but be disappointed that Darren might only be planning on jacking him off after all that. He expects the touch of a slick hand, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Darren shifts over him and huffs out a shaking breath.

Chris’s sudden suspicion has his balls prickling. “Darren?”

“Yeah?” Darren grunts.

“What are you doing?”

There’s a distinct pause. “Um…”

“Take off the blindfold?” 

He feels Darren’s hand on his cheek, and then Darren is clumsily peeling the blindfold away, over the top of Chris’s head. Everything is blurry at first, and too bright, and Chris blinks rapidly to clear his eyes. When he does, he sees Darren hovering over him, up on his knees with his free hand bracing against the mattress again. His other hand definitely isn’t free. Because it’s snaked around to the back of his body, shifting rhythmically with his arm. “You’re —” Chris gasps out, and his arousal is so present and immediate that it feels like it’s choking him.

Darren is a flushed, sweaty mess, and he skates his knees out a little farther as he keeps working his hand. “I thought maybe we could do this.” 

“Oh my god.”

“But only if you want to. I can stop,” Darren adds, in a voice that sounds like stopping might be easier said than done. 

Chris just keeps staring at where his arm disappears. “Only if _you_ want to,” he rushes out. “Me wanting to is not a problem.”

Darren’s doing something behind his back, something that’s making him face scrunch up a little and his jaw drop. Chris is pretty sure he’s adding another finger. “No problem here either,” Darren breathes.

“I’ve never done this before,” Chris blurts, because he doesn’t feel right not being honest about it, even if it means that it doesn't happen at all. 

Darren does still his movements at the announcement. “Oh,” he says. “Neither have I. Do you want to — do it the other way? I mean —”

“I haven’t done that either,” Chris interjects, feeling his face heat up. Suddenly and strangely, he feels ten times more awkward having this particular discussion with his arms cuffed above his head than he had doing anything that came before it. Darren starts to take his hand away from his body, and Chris rattles the buckle of the handcuffs against the bed frame again as he reflexively goes to stop him. “You can keep going,” Chris says quickly. 

“Are you sure?” Darren asks, his eyes raking over Chris’s face.

He meets Darren’s gaze evenly. “Yes.”

“Do you want the cuffs off?”

Chris considers it for a moment. Maybe he _should_ want them off. Maybe his first time doing something like this should be more intimate, with the opportunity to touch Darren and wrap his arms around Darren’s body. But Chris — is kind of enjoying what they’re doing and he’s not sure he wants to change it. There’s a dull ache developing in his shoulders, but his circulation is still good. “Nope.” 

He doesn’t miss the way Darren’s eyes spark. “No?”

“Well, we _did_ meet thanks to a porn website, right?” Chris still feels kind of shaky, but he manages a good smirk. “Our sex life should be risque.”

Darren huffs out a laugh. “Not gonna argue with that.” His hand is moving again, and he starts rocking his hips a little too. 

All Chris can do is watch while Darren finishes prepping himself, and he can’t even really see that. Instead, he watches the lines of Darren's face and the flush in his cheeks and the hitching of his breath. He keeps himself propped up over Chris’s body, and it’s fucking _torture_ for Chris watch while he’s not being touched. He’s panting as hard as Darren is by the time Darren finally pulls his fingers back out of himself, and Chris groans and thumps his head back into the pillow when Darren lowers his ass — warm and slippery with extra lube — to rest over Chris’s lap while he wipes his hands off and opens a condom. He notices Chris’s reaction and wiggles purposefully, nestling Chris’s erection into his crack and rubbing himself over it. 

“Don’t do that,” Chris grits. “Unless you want this to be over really, really quickly.” 

Darren just laughs and moves away to roll the condom onto Chris’s cock. He has to carefully wipe some lube away with a dry hand to get it on, and Chris digs his teeth into his lip almost painfully.

And then Darren is repositioning Chris’s cock, and he starts to lower himself down. Chris can feel when he meets resistance, and he looks up at the concentration on Darren’s face, the crease between his eyebrows, and he’s about to say that they don’t _have_ to, even if they’ve gotten this far, when suddenly Darren bears down and his body gives and Chris is sliding in and even as he’s groaning, Chris chokes on a mouthful of air. Darren is so hot and so tight, and before Chris even stops reeling, he’s completely bottomed out on Chris’s cock.

“So. This is nice,” Darren pants. 

“Fuck,” Chris says.

Darren chuckles breathily. “Hey, that’s my line,” he jokes, his voice weak as he leans down to kiss Chris, wet and off-center. Then he pulls back again and starts to move. Chris can’t stay still, and he shifts on the mattress, digging his heels in again and rocking up to meet Darren each time he drops himself down. It takes a minute, but they find a rhythm, and Chris knows that he’s not going to last any time at all.

“Oh, shit,” he grumbles, scrunching his eyes shut and struggling to find something, some thought, some image, that’s going to keep him from coming in the next sixty seconds.

“Just do it,” Darren urges him. “Fuck, Chris, I want you to.”

“But you —”

“Don’t worry about me. I just want to see you — _fuck_ — come. Do it — come on.” He punctuates his words with a forceful downward thrust, and Chris just barely hangs on. Darren rolls his eyes and bounces again. “God fucking dammit, Chris. Just come _on_.”

“Fine. _Fine_ ,” Chris grumbles. He braces his legs and fucks up harder, but his movements go jerky right away. Darren takes it, his smile almost lazy in its satisfaction. 

“Do it, Chris, _yeah_ ,” he repeats. “Fuck.”

So Chris _does it_. He snaps his hips against Darren’s body, _fast fast fast_ and his orgasm slams into him, like he’s being sideswiped right off the highway. By an eighteen-wheeler. His body seizes up, making his arms pull and twang, and then he flops back against the mattress, writhing through the aftershocks. He’s dimly aware of Darren pulling off, and when Chris opens his eyes again, Darren is jerking himself inelegantly, clearly just a means to an end. 

Chris wants to reach up and help, but of course he can’t, so he just watches Darren finish himself off, and he comes onto Chris’s stomach, less than before, with a hoarse noise. He drops his cock when he’s done, looks up to see Chris watching him, and drops down on top of him for a tired, sloppy kiss. “That was fucking _awesome_ ,” he says, his voice buzzing against Chris’s lips.

“ _That_ lasted for about two minutes,” Chris retorts. 

“A fucking awesome two minutes.” Darren kisses him again.

“Mmph — Darren, I’m disgusting, stop for a second.” He really is. They both are — Darren’s smearing come between their bellies, and Chris has shrunk completely out of the condom and it’s a mess. “And I kind of want my arms back.”

Darren releases his lips with a smack. “Oh, shit, I’m so sorry. Hold on —” He’s up and off, jostling the bed as he releases the cuffs, managing to make the whole spunk-and-lube-everywhere situation even worse in the process. Chris gingerly brings his arms back down, wincing a little, and then he shuffles into a sitting position, wiggling his shoulders to try and restore normal sensation. Darren’s hands land on top of them, rubbing. “Are you okay?” he asks, his eyes serious and searching.

“I’m covered in bodily fluids and lube,” Chris replies dryly. “Could you maybe get me a towel? Or a wet vac?”

There’s a flash of a grin before Darren leans in and pecks his lips hard. “Always so romantic.” 

Chris rolls his eyes, but when he looks back at Darren, he can’t help the way his expression softens. “I’m fine. I’m really good.”

“Good,” Darren says. He kisses Chris one more time, and then hops up to head into the bathroom. Chris waits a few minutes, disposing of the condom while he listens to the water turn on and off, and then Darren’s back, looking much more refreshed himself and carrying a damp washcloth and a towel. He starts running the washcloth over Chris’s stomach, but Chris swats him away and grabs it himself. Darren holds up his hands in surrender and retreats again. When he comes back, he’s got a spare blanket in hand, and he uses it to wrap them both up once he’s tossed the soiled bedding, the washcloth, and the towel to the floor.

When they’re settled, Darren asks quietly, “So… was that — okay?”

“I guess so,” Chris deadpans. Darren pinches him in retaliation, and Chris smacks his hip lightly, although he can’t get very good leverage under the blanket. “It was okay, Darren. It was very, very okay. I think we gave the Trussed-Up Cum Shot guys a run for their money, don’t you?”

“Fuck yes, we did.” Darren nestles further into his side. “So, we try it the other way around next time?”

“Maybe,” Chris says. “Or maybe —” he pulls back far enough to look Darren in the eye, and Darren blinks curiously at him “— maybe we should talk about which video is _your_ favorite.”

Darren’s eyebrows shoot up as he grins.

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics to the songs Darren sings:  
> [I Miss You by the Honeydogs](http://www.metrolyrics.com/i-miss-you-lyrics-honeydogs.html)  
> [Please Forgive Me by David Gray](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/davidgray/pleaseforgiveme.html)
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING! You're always welcome to come say hi at [my tumblr](http://luckiedee.tumblr.com/). :)


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